


infinite pleasures

by Elsajeni



Series: Good Omens Tinyfics [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Other, True-Form Sex, in fact that tag is underselling it, there may have been some miscommunication about the "hundreds of eyes" thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: "Eyes," Crowley says, weakly. "I thought... I mean, human books and all, they all talk about eyes.""Oh." Aziraphale's face flushes. (Some of the other bits flush as well. Crowley tries not to look directly at them.) "Well... there may have been some, er, translation errors. Early on.""Translation errors," Crowley echoes. He thinks about the shelf of misprinted Bibles downstairs, and what he knows about the source of some ofthosetranslation errors, and decides it's best not to ask. "Right."Aziraphale's true form has an abundance of vaginas. Crowley has his hands (and then some) full.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Tinyfics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443157
Comments: 38
Kudos: 259
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	infinite pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this kinkmeme prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2406745#cmt2406745). Thank you, OP, this is the most I have ever giggled while writing a fic.

Aziraphale is about halfway between forms— still man-shaped and man-sized, roughly, but now surrounded by wings, not just the two he usually pulls into this plane but multiple pairs, and encircled by two slow-turning golden wheels. And scattered among the feathers of the wings, and studded at regular intervals around the wheels, are—

Are dozens of—

"Eyes," Crowley says, weakly. He can't think what else to say. There _isn't_ anything else to say.

Aziraphale blinks at him— only with the regulation two eyes, thank fuck. "I beg your pardon?"

Crowley gestures vaguely. "I thought... s'posed to be eyes. Isn't it? I mean— human books and all, they all talk about eyes."

"Oh." Aziraphale's face flushes. (Some of the other bits flush as well. Crowley tries not to look directly at them.) "Well... there may have been some, er, translation errors. Early on."

"Translation errors," Crowley echoes. He thinks about the shelf of misprinted Bibles downstairs, and what he knows about the source of some of _those_ translation errors, and decides it's best not to ask. "Right. Er. Are they..."

More vague gesturing. Aziraphale waits a little while, looking at him expectantly. And then a little while longer looking at him impatiently, and then anxiously. At last he says, "If you don't like—"

" _No_ ," Crowley says urgently. True-form show-and-tell may not have gone in the direction he expected, but he's blessed if he's going to let it end with Aziraphale thinking he doesn't _like_ what he sees. "No no no, it's _absolutely_ not that. It's. Ah. Sort of the opposite, actually." He swallows. "Are they, erm. Functional. Is what I was going to say."

Aziraphale's eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline. " _Functional_?"

"You know what I mean. Are they— do they—" Crowley grimaces and scrubs a hand over his face, trying to formulate the question in a way, _any_ way, that isn't _can your hundred cunts get off or what, angel_. "Do you, ah, feel pleasure. In them. In the... usual manner."

There's a brief silence before Aziraphale repeats, his voice rather strained, "The _usual manner_."

"Yes, the— _look_ ," Crowley says desperately, "I don't know how angelic wing-vaginas that don't technically exist on this plane of reality work! I have no relevant experience! _Do they behave like human cunts_ , is the question."

"Well," Aziraphale starts, and then, "Er. I actually don't— this is going to sound rather silly— I don't really have the relevant experience either." He blushes again; this time Crowley does allow himself to look, enjoying the flush of color deepening in several dozen pairs of labia. "But, ah, based on... on the way they feel just now, I have to assume—"

"Right," Crowley interrupts. He steps closer, close enough to touch, if he only reached out— "Angel. Would you like to find out?"

Aziraphale lets out a long, shaky breath and says, " _Please_ ," and Crowley doesn't need telling twice.

There's some variety to choose from; some of them seem to be just the orifice itself, some the entire structure from mons to perineum, with a range in between. Something to do with being incompletely manifested, maybe, or maybe that's just the nature of the form— a question for another night, Crowley decides.

He starts out very cautiously, reaching for one of the more complete ones that's high up on a wing. It doesn't feel quite the same as the equivalent human apparatus— his hand tingles strangely when he strokes it, like the buzz of static around a television screen— but when he grows bolder and slips a finger inside, it's warm and velvety-slick in a pleasantly familiar way.

And, more importantly, Aziraphale makes a high-pitched, breathless little noise that suggests it works _exactly_ like a human one.

"Is that nice?" Crowley asks. He feels a little breathless himself, come to think of it.

"Oh, darling," Aziraphale gasps. "Oh— _yes_ , it's, it's a little strange but it's so— _Crowley_!"

That last is sort of a yelp, coinciding with Crowley's other hand finding its way to another warm little cunt and, more specifically, with Crowley wondering _wait, do these come with clits?_ and making an investigative effort.

Things escalate predictably from there. Crowley strokes and pets and fondles, and satisfies his curiosity on several other points— yes, they seem to operate independently of each other, the ones he's actively playing with swollen and slick with arousal and the rest in a clearly interested but more quiescent state. Yes, they open sweetly to his touch and stretch easily around additional fingers, just as if they were the ordinary human kind. Yes, if he crooks his fingers just like _this_ , Aziraphale cries out and trembles and says things like _please, Crowley, please please don't stop oh God—_

There are the two wheels, still, one of them passing quite close to Crowley where he stands pressed against Aziraphale's human body. He eyes it speculatively— it's rotating quickly enough that none of the pudenda on it stay within reach for long, but not so quickly that he couldn't have a bit of fun with them.

Crowley leans forward and opens his mouth. There's another uncomfortable static-discharge tingle as his tongue makes contact— this one is a bit sharper, just a _tiny_ bit like licking a 9-volt— but it's worth it for the way the soft flesh quivers at his touch, the coppery-musky taste of it. He licks deep and leisurely up the length of the slit, flicks the tip of his tongue against the clit to wring a choked-off, desperate noise from Aziraphale.

Then it's gone, the next one rotating into place. And then the next, and the next, one after another— he'd swear they're picking up speed. He tries to match the increasing pace with tongue and hands, licking, rubbing, sucking—

Aziraphale _wails_ , his entire body shaking. Slick walls clench and quake around both of Crowley's hands; he's pretty sure most of the cunts passing under his tongue are coming, too, and possibly, by the pitch Aziraphale's voice reaches, a few extra that he hasn't even touched. He keeps his fingers and tongue moving steadily, working Aziraphale through it, until at last Aziraphale gives a final shuddering moan and collapses against him.

Crowley frees his hands hurriedly; it's a near thing, but he gets an arm around Aziraphale's waist quickly enough to keep him upright. With the other hand he gestures at the armchair in the corner, bringing it near enough that he can lower Aziraphale into it. As an afterthought, he widens the seat enough that he can sit down as well and cradle the angel, still trembling, against his chest.

"Oh, beautiful," he murmurs eventually, when Aziraphale seems recovered enough to make coherent conversation. "Oh, angel. I can't _believe_ you never showed me these before."

"When could it _possibly_ have come up?" Aziraphale says into his shoulder. He does still sound a little dazed. "Oh, darling. That was— I can't believe it. I couldn't have _imagined_ it."

"That's not the half of it," Crowley informs him. "Next true-form date night, we go all the way metaphysical, and I'll show you a _real_ good time."

Aziraphale laughs. "I don't think you could possibly show me a better time than that. Anyway, you may be underestimating the, ah... the _scale_ of the situation— the entire form, there's, er, they're more or less infinite—"

"Trust me," Crowley cuts him off. He twists between dimensions a bit, pulling a little of his true shape into this one so that he ends up, like Aziraphale, halfway between forms— still human-shaped, but twined around by a dark, glittering ribbon that might be either space or snakeskin, or possibly both.

The ribbon, like Aziraphale's wings, is studded with openings that aren't eyes. Aziraphale stares at them, his expression midway between delight and disbelief.

"I think," Crowley says, grinning with infinite mouths, "we've stumbled upon a _very_ happy coincidence."

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit's due: my description of Crowley's true form draws most of its inspiration from wheeloffortune-design's lovely version [seen here](https://wheeloffortune-design.tumblr.com/post/189727367615/crowleys-true-form-a-ribbon-of-space-with-a).


End file.
